“Hallo! there’s Webster! What’s he hanging about for there?”
“Perhaps you owe him a bill,” said Coote.
“Not I. I’ve jacked Webster up; he’s a surly beast.”
“I was in his shop this morning,” said Coote. “There was such a stunning little shut-up penholder, about so big. I can’t fancy how they make them shut up so small.”
“Did you buy it?”
“No; I couldn’t afford it. Hallo! what does he want? He’s beckoning.”
“Jolly cheek of him!” said Heathcote. “If he wants you, let him come. I wouldn’t go to him if I were you. Call out and ask him what he wants.”
Whereupon Coote called out:—
“What do you want?”
“I want you,” said the bookseller, approaching.